


She is the sun, I am the moon

by crayonbreakygal



Series: So What Now? [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Molly Hooper, F/M, Romance, Romantic Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9396326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: Sherlock is an idiot, as usual.  He just needs to talk to her.  Takes place after The Final Problem, season four.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't know what kind of response I'd have for my first fic that I posted yesterday. Oh my. What a lovely fandom. I can't thank everyone enough. Here I go again though. This scene between Molly and Sherlock could be written a million ways. He's either avoiding or being an idiot. That's why we love him so much. The title come from the poem, "She is the sun, I am the moon" by Lawrence Campbell. I have no idea why this phrase popped into my head, but it did. I must have read this poem at some point. This fic is a bit more angsty, but not too much. Not too graphic either, but still rated M because yeah. I want to keep going with this as a series. I have another one planned with Mary too. Having so much fun with Sherlock and Molly. Enjoy!

“She is the sun, I am the moon”

Takes place after The Final Problem, season four

 

He still sees her in his mind, fury raining down on him, screams so close to his face, he wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t lest she attempt to strangle him where he lay.

Her dark hair just as his is, curling.  Eyes just as different as his are, just as his mother’s, but looking down at him with such contempt.  He thought he’d never see someone look at him in such a way.  Moriarty never did.  He was just a plaything to Jim.  Magnussen.  He was just a thing to be squashed under his very expensive shoe.  Irene Adler.  A sexual toy to manipulate and toss aside when she was done.  And so on, and so on.

Eurus was his, well his family’s deepest, darkest secret.  She must have been buried so deep in his psyche that she would ever have appeared unless she did what she did:  take him over, mind, body and soul.  She had the ability to make him lose control, over one simple thing.  She’d seen it, the look in his eyes when she made him do things he never wished to do, never wished to say.  She made him solve a case with just a few photos and a gun, only for her to serve as judge and jury.  She’d almost cost Mycroft his life, if just to make him pay for keeping her at Sherrinford against her will. 

Five people dead.  Not all innocent mind you, but that was not her decision to make.  She’d manipulated him, teased him, hurt him beyond belief.  His world was turned upside down.  Redbeard was not a dog, nor was Mycroft an unsentimental being.  He indeed was flawed.  Sherlock knew that. Now he had proof.  He only thought that Mycroft was occasionally a jerk. Now he had proof that the man had overstepped so many boundaries, he may not recover.  Eurus had gotten out, had manipulated the entire staff of the compound, and had killed numerous people along the way. 

How did she know that Sherlock did not remember her? Had he been manipulated also, by her and by Mycroft?  It was something he’d have to tease out, think over, retreat to his mind palace to be able to come to terms.  It wasn’t that she turned evil, that something traumatic had made her into a monster.  She’d been born that way.  His parents, as such, did not create her except for her being born.  They didn’t abuse her. They only felt love. And had done all they could until they could do no more.

Why couldn’t he remember?  He’d certainly forgotten many things in his life, had deleted things that he perceived as wasteful, taking up too much space in his brain.  Like the fact that Molly’s former fiancé, Tom, was a terrible replica of him.  Delete, delete.  Why hadn’t that memory been deleted from his brain?

Eurus had taken her time, studied about his past, his present, and had hit him exactly where it had hurt.  Just like Moriarty, just like Magnussen.  He’d prided himself on being objective, impartial. Now all he could be was an emotional mess.

“Way too much alike the two of us,” the voice told him in his ear.   “See why John gravitated to us the way he did.”

The elephant in the room as it were.  She saved him, just like the others.  Only she as dead, buried not long ago. 

Mycroft had saved him from his sister.

Lestrade had saved him from a life on the streets.

John Watson had saved him from loneliness.

Mrs. Hudson had saved him from starvation.

Mary had saved him from an angry secretary’s bullet.

Molly had saved him from himself, over and over and over again.

What had he done to save any of the others?

“You’re a junkie.”

“A waste of valuable time.”

“Come on, you’re wasting your life away.”

“Don’t go.”

That last phrase caught his breath. Don’t go?  Where had he heard that?  Had Eurus asked that of him? She’d crawled in his lap in their old, fire damaged house. 

Don’t go.  No, she’d said nothing after he’d found her.  She was going back to Sherrinford, for safe keeping until he could talk with Mycroft and his parents about what to do.  She’d never be held in a regular prison. She’d done too much damage to ever be released.

Don’t go.

Go where?  Did he need to go somewhere?  Or was someone begging him to stay where he was?  Mary had begged him, on that recording to save John Watson.  He needed to sacrifice himself to save John.  It was his duty, his right, his privilege to save his best friend.

Don’t go.

As he snapped out of his surroundings, he realized that indeed someone had said those two words.  When had he retreated to his mind palace?  When had he even walked into Bart’s? 

“How is she?”

Her voice pulled him back into the real world.

“She?  Oh, she’s not talking. I took my violin though.”

“Good, good.  You were gone there for a moment.”

“A moment?”

“Well, more than a moment, more like fifteen minutes, but I know how you get, when you go away in your mind, if just to think and contemplate what your next move is…”

“Molly?”

“Yes?”

Instead of telling her to stop talking, to stop babbling, he just smiled her way.  It was soothing to hear her voice, even if she didn’t make sense half the time.

“Coffee?” he blurted out.

“Coffee? Oh, yeah, still two sugars, yeah?”

“No, no.  I mean, yes, still two sugars.  Just, coffee?  Like at a place that serves coffee. The two of us.”

“Oh, oh. Sounds nice.”

“Now?”

“Um, yes.  My shift isn’t over for another twenty minutes but I can make that up on the back end of the next shift and my paperwork is caught up, besides it’s a slow day, yes, for bodies that is.”

Still awkward as always.  She’d been less awkward in the past year or so.  Now she was back to the old Molly.  Amazing what declaring your love could do to someone.

He’d done it.  He’d said what he’d wanted to say for quite some time.  There it was. The other elephant in the room. He imagined himself apologizing to her, telling her that he meant every word he had said, then showing her that he did love her, care for her, cherish her.

Only she’d never believe it.  How could she?  He’d never given her any opportunity, had belittled her at every turn.

He took to avoiding her since the incident, as he was calling it in his mind.  She hadn’t mentioned a thing, so far that is.  He was waiting, oh was he waiting.  A slap, a frown, even an arm cross, but there was nothing from her, only the same old Molly. 

As they walked in silence to the coffee shop near Bart’s, Sherlock kept going over in his head why Eurus had set this up.  She apparently hadn’t intended to kill Molly, at least at that juncture.  Lestrade had combed her place in addition to Mycroft’s people. No bomb.  Nothing.

Eurus’s look of surprise when Sherlock had actually responded to Molly, had told her that indeed he did love her, made Sherlock wonder at her intentions.  Surely it was to humiliate him and Molly, to damage their friendship beyond repair.  Sherlock thought there was nothing that could make Molly hate him, with all the things that he had done during the time that he’d known her.  Eurus had figured out the one thing that could push Molly away for good.

It hadn’t worked.  At least Sherlock didn’t think it had worked.  Every single time he stepped into a room with Molly, he cringed inwardly.  This had to stop. He had to confront all his jumbled feelings. 

Doing this in public would assure no scene from Molly.  He’d tell her that he wasn’t good enough for her and leave it at that.  Break her heart, but tell her that it was him, not her.  Sherlock hated clichés.  But there was no other way.

“Better than the crap they serve in the cafeteria.”

Molly had finally spoken. The day was bright and sunny, with a bit of chill in the air.  Spring had finally arrived, flowers peeking out of the ground.  Leaves were starting to pop out, tips of green.  Molly had chosen to wear a bright green jumper in celebration, along with khaki trousers and ballet flats.  Even in heels, which she hardly ever wore, she was so much shorter than he was.  He didn’t mind.  Her taste in clothes was god awful, but it made Molly who she was.

“It’s sludge half the time and weak as water the other half.  I keep telling them that if they’d offer half way decent coffee, they’d make a killing.”

Molly had worn her hair in a single long ponytail, which bounced as she talked about nothing in particular.  She often filled the silence between them, but had over the years figured out when to stop the chatter.  Now was not that time.

She kept up the inane chatter until Sherlock finally put a finger to her lips. She immediately stopped, eyes going wide at his gesture. He could feel her warm breath on the digit, but did not pull it back until he saw her swallow hard.

“Sorry.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?  Sherlock?”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry.”

“Oh, well, I was nattering on about nothing in particular.”

“Don’t care.”

Molly rolled her eyes at his statement, like she always did.

“Know that isn’t true, now don’t we?”

“Molly.”

“Sherlock Holmes, don’t you Molly me.”

There was that spine she had developed when he had been in Eastern Europe destroying Moriarty’s web.

“Just listen to me talk then.  I know what happened. Greg explained it to me.  You saved not only Mycroft and John, you saved your sister from herself.”

Sherlock thought he’d pick up his cup, but knew his hands were shaking, so that was a no go.  Anything to steer the conversation away from what she was leading up to.

“I saved you,” he finally got out.  “And ruined you.”

“Ruined me?  Hardly.”

“But…”

“No buts about it.”

When had her eyes been clearer?  They seemed to bore into his soul at that moment, even more than Eurus had been able to do. No one in his existence had been able to see him except for Molly and now Eurus. No one, not even John.

“It was for a case.”

“Not a case.”

“Certainly looked like one.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I should go,” Molly told him.

Molly hurriedly gathered her bag and slung her coat over her arm, not bothering to even put it on.

“I…”

“No, it's alright, Sherlock.  Have lots to do,” she explained cheerily.  A little too cheery.

Before she could make it to the tube station, he dragged her arm, taking her into some alley off the main road.  It was dirty, it smelled, but he did not care.

“Molly.”

“What?”

“I, I can’t…”

“Can’t what?  Apologize?  I told you that it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.  It will never be fine.”

“Get out of my way,” she said as she attempted to steer around him.

“I just wanted to explain.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.  It did matter. She mattered.  She always had.

“You don’t believe me.”

She shivered in the cold air, coat now forgotten in her arms.  Her face had turned pink, if not from cold, but from the rising storm inside her.  He was going to be on the receiving end of this, he knew, just like he’d been on the receiving end of her slaps and her anger in that ambulance.  He deserved it, every bit of it.

“You lied.  You lied to John that you were dead. You lied to me, about Janine and Magnussen and the drugs.  You lied to Mycroft so many times you’ve forgotten.  You lied to Janine that you really cared for her.”

“She would have known. Eurus would have known.”

“You’re good at manipulating people, Sherlock. It’s your job.”

“I told her the truth, because I had to.”

“Or what?  She’d kill me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need saving,” Molly said and pushed her way past him.

“But I do.”

Molly stopped at the end of the alley, but did not turn.  He bet he’d see tears flowing.  He never wanted to see her cry again.

“Need saving.”

Plain and simple. There it was.

Molly walked away, not looking back.  Dammit, he’d ruined it, utterly ruined everything.  It was all his fault.

 

“Yeah, it was all your fault.”

John and his advice.  “Shove it.”

“You asked, remember?”

He’d been sitting in his chair that afternoon, not moving, not saying a thing until John cleared his throat.  John proceeded to lecture him about women in general, then about Molly in particular.

“She’s safe, you know.  Unlike The Woman. You can trust her.”

“I know.”

“She’s smart.  Career, not that it’s important. She has a good heart.  Doesn’t put up with your shit.”

“I know.”

“She knows your moods.”

“She is the sun, I am the Moon.”

“What?”

“That’s it. I’ve got it.”

“Excuse me?”

Sherlock slammed the door open, grabbed his coat and was off like a flash. John hadn’t even moved. He knew.  Now he just knew what to do. Brilliant.  He was brilliant.

 

It didn’t take long to arrange what he needed, to make Molly see what he was. Then she’d have to take it from there. It would crush him if she didn’t understand, but he knew her well. She’d know. She would just know.

Waiting in the dark, he had it all prepared. He patted his jacket pocket, ready and willing to show her what he’d meant. Then would suffer the consequences, let the chips fall where they may.

“Why am I not surprised?” she said as she walked into her flat.

“Hope I didn’t frighten you.”

“Sherlock, I’m tired. Can’t we deal with whatever you want tomorrow?”

Molly plopped her bag down, wrenched off her coat and sighed.  The dark circles under her eyes told him she had not been sleeping well.  He hadn’t slept much either, probably less than she had. Maybe after this, he’d sleep for days.

“I want to read you something.”

“You know you have John to help you solve cases.”

“Not a case.”

Molly sat on her settee, curling her feet under her after pulling her shoes off.

Sherlock paced and paced until he worked up the courage to face the music.  Pulling out the piece of paper, he read it over and over again, hoping that this would work.  When he didn’t have the words in himself, he found the right words somewhere else.

“She is the sun, I am the moon

When the day starts and the roosters crow  
The sun comes out, that we all know  
And with its warm and bright beautiful glow  
The animals rejoice, and the trees grow  
  
When the day ends, and the sun starts to fade  
A cold rock, comes out to light the shade  
Its cold, and dark but yet it will glow  
For the suns warm beauty continues to flow  
So the owls, and wolfs will continue to see  
The survival of the fittest that make the weak flee  
  
And as the moon falls, and the cycle restarts  
The sun will continue to come out to warm hearts  
And even the moon, which seems so dark and cold  
Will continue to glow and guide the few that are bold  
For the sun will always light the cold dense rock  
And the universe will expand like a ticking clock  
And every year or two, the moon will get its due  
For the suns bright face will be eclipsed by the moon”

It didn’t take much for Molly to literally leap into his arms, bringing him down to the floor with a thump, her on top.

“I hate you.”

“Um, really?”

This most definitely were not the actions of someone who hated another. 

“You’re a bastard,” she said as she ground herself against him.

“Most definitely,” as his eyes crossed.

“Bloody git,” as she raked her hands through his hair.

“I agree,” as he groaned.

His shirt had no buttons left as she yanked it open. 

She whispered even more awful names as she stripped him bare, her jumper ending up in his pile of ruined clothing.

“Then you liked it?”

Molly giggled as she sucked on his neck.

“What is your deduction, Mr. Holmes?”

The rest of her clothing had been shed.

“That you possibly believe me now.”

He gasped as she slowly sank down on him.

They’d made it to her bedroom somewhere near dawn if his timing was right.  As he opened his eyes, he noticed that it was somewhere in the late afternoon. His body ached in places it hadn’t ached in forever.  The other side of the bed was cold to the touch, so Molly must have been up for some time.  Since he hadn’t slept much in over forty-eight hours, his body needed it to recharge.

Looking in the mirror of the bathroom, he saw the evidence of why he ached so.  Small teeth marks and other red marks on his chest and neck made him smile.  She’d literally sucked the life out of him, almost like a succubus.  After washing up and brushing his teeth, he set out to find her.  Wrapping a towel around his hips, he walked into her sitting area, only to be confronted by, just his luck, his parents.

Molly was dressed, thank goodness. 

“Sherlock dear, clothes,” his mother told him.

His father just smirked his way, probably seeing what had been done to him the night before.  Molly blushed crimson. 

“I am going to kill Mycroft,” he shouted as he walked back into Molly’s bedroom to get dressed.


End file.
